


Experiments of a Different Nature

by littlebun416



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Choking, Consensual Sex, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hair-pulling, M/M, Masochism, Military Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 11:54:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5247332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlebun416/pseuds/littlebun416
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An experiment goes awry and the boys get carried away with a different type of experiment.<br/> </p><p>_____________________________________________________</p><p>I'm shit at summaries and shit at titles, hopefully not shit at actual writing.<br/>Both of these chapters could be read as stand alones. Please read the tags make sure there's nothing here that will upset you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Starts With the Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This will have at least one more chapter, and possibly another or just a piece that is a companion but could stand alone. I hope to be able to complete and post within the week, though I can't make any promises with Thanksgiving around the corner and the hubby's birthday this weekend! Feedback is always appreciated, as a new writer I encourage any comments or crit you may have!

John stood, unmoving, an utterly unreadable look on his face. Sherlock dared not even breathe. The jar of eyeballs (human, of course) that he had been using for experimentation had overturned on the kitchen table, effectively ruining John's ability to ever eat there again.

"A bit not good?" Sherlock asked - maybe some humor would diffuse the tension. John's eye twitched. He didn't so much as smirk. Humor was a "no" then.

"John, look I-"  
"Shut up." John's voice was demanding and low. Sherlock had never stopped talking so quickly in all his life. A little flutter rippled through his chest, but before he had time to evaluate what had caused it, John was speaking again.

"How many times, Sherlock? Hm? How many bloody times have I told you not to do experiments on the kitchen table?" He could see John trying to compose himself, allowing calm and collected Captain John Watson to take control of the situation. John's military experience allowed him to manage his anger more effectively, so in these instances he always reverted to that state in order to not lose his temper. Sherlock didn't fully understand it, but he always felt a shiver of excitement when he saw John stand a little straighter and even out his breathing.  
"You will clean this mess up. I don't care if it takes you all night. I want it cleaned up." John's strong and unyielding tone caused Sherlock's breath to stop for a moment.

His mouth went dry. He licked his lips and breathed, "Yes, sir." before his mind could stop the words from slipping out. John froze and turned slowly to stare at Sherlock with a bewildered expression, mouth hanging open in shock. Sherlock's face felt hot and his breathing rapid, an effect he was sure was not solely caused by embarrassment.  
John walked slowly toward him, his steps heavy and sure. He stopped directly in front of Sherlock in his kitchen chair. The usually shorter man towered over the sitting detective, both in stature and in demeanor. Sherlock looked up into his eyes and shivered at the dark look John was giving him. He felt himself getting hard. Ah, so that was the reason for his excitement, then.  
"Is this some kind of joke to you?"  
"No!" Sherlock urged.  
"Cause Sherlock, I'm not kidding. I want this gone. Any limbs, organs, muscles. And heads!” he added.  
"I promise, John." Sherlock tried to put as much sincerity in his expression as he could muster. John took in Sherlock's quickened breath and reddened face. Sherlock could see his mind calculating, trying to make sense of Sherlock's sudden obedience and the unprecedented flush of his complexion. His eyes jumped to Sherlock's lap for a fraction of a second before flickering back up to his face. Something seemed to click in his mind. He stood a little more upright. "I think you mean 'I promise, Sir."  
Sherlock practically whimpered.

"Yes, Sir." He felt blood rushing to his cock, causing an involuntary twitch. John noticed, as well.

"Are you enjoying this." His voice was impossibly low; Sherlock had never heard John sound like this before. Military and in control, yes, but never this dangerous.  
Sherlock swallowed thickly. "Yes, Sir." He could see John's pupils dilate further at the reply. "Did you do this on purpose? See if I'll order you around? See if I'd punish you like you deserve?"

 _Jesus_. That sent a jolt straight to Sherlock's cock. "No, sir, I promise." He strangled out, trying his hardest to compress a moan. John leaned down to press his mouth to Sherlock's ear and husked out, "Clean it up." before straightening up and walking out of the room. Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed heavily through his nose. He could hear John's footsteps marching up the stairs. In a flurry he leapt up and began dashing about the room, wiping down counters and collecting body parts for proper disposal.  
Half an hour and one sparkling kitchen later, Sherlock plopped back down on the kitchen chair and waited.  
He sat for several long minutes before his whole body tensed at hearing a creak from the upstairs floor and heavy footsteps on the stairs. He sat up straighter, eyes fixed on the doorway.  
The second John's form appeared he could feel his whole body hum in anticipation. John's eyes swept the room. He walked around and inspected the counter, the table, the sink.  
He turned his eyes on Sherlock, who sat as still as he could, wanting to show John how obedient he was.  
"You want to be rewarded for cleaning up your mess, hm? You think you deserve something in return?"  
Sherlock breathed heavily through his nose and nodded tentatively.  
John stood tall and still for a moment before muttering, “Too bad.”, a mischievous glint in his eye.  
"John" Sherlock whimpered. He didn't even care how desperate he sounded. He needed John.  
"No, I think you need to be punished for the mess you made, first." He stood in military stance, with his hands behind his back. "Get up." Sherlock jumped up as quickly as he could, awaiting John's next orders.  
"Over here and on your knees."  
Sherlock flew to John and fell to his knees so fast that he knew there would be bruises there later. He relished the thought. They were John's bruises. He was John's, and both men knew it.  
He knelt with his hands by his side, desperate to touch John but not wanting to disobey his orders. A shiver of excitement rippled through him.  
John's hand slowly reached out to grip the back of Sherlock's head. _Christ_ , he had never felt something so erotic in his whole life as the simple touch of John's fingers threaded through his hair, holding him in place. He looked straight out of a porn video he had seen on John's laptop. Strong and powerful, his pupils blown wide and cock hardening in his slacks.  
He slowly guided Sherlock's head toward him. Both men moaned when Sherlock mouthed John through his trousers, John's a light sigh and Sherlock's loud and vibrating against the other man. He could feel John get even harder, could smell the arousal through the layers of his clothing. He smelled like sweat and musk and absolute heaven. Sherlock could not get enough. He wanted to taste John, to feel his pulsing length pushing to the back of his throat, filling his mouth and devouring all of his senses.  
He tried to put all of his desires and needs into that moment. He worshiped John's cock with his mouth, desperate to give John as much pleasure as he was capable of giving.  
John groaned and pulled Sherlock away by the hair, wanting to remove his trousers, but the feeling of those hands tugging at his roots and controlling his movements caused Sherlock to moan loudly. "Fuck, _John_." 

John stood, frozen in place by the reaction a little bit of hair tugging elicited from Sherlock. He tugged a little harder at the curls, causing Sherlock to go pliant under his grip. "Christ, you're so fucking beautiful. God, so gorgeous like this. God, Sherlock." He babbled mindlessly as he hastily opened the button on his trousers and fumbled to get his slacks and pants down past his cock.  
Sherlock took that moment to catalog every inch of John's exposed skin. He thanked God for his exceptional memory, knowing that for years to come he would be able to recall, with perfect clarity, every bit of John, even if this were the only time this happened.  
He breathed in deeply, relishing the scent of John's arousal before surging forward to press a kiss to the tip of his length. John moaned and his cock twitched. Sherlock hesitantly touched his tongue to the underside and swirled it around the head.  
"Jesus _Christ_ , Sherlock!" Breathless moans and murmured praises gave Sherlock a jolt of confidence in what he was doing. He took the whole length into his mouth and went as deep as he could go, only stopping when he felt John's tip touching the back of his throat. He moaned when he felt John's hips snap forward just slightly, and grabbed for John's hand to guide it back to his head. The weight of his hand and the fullness of his length pressing down into his throat cause Sherlock's own erection to harden and pulse, a moan escaping from deep in his chest. 

John, incoherently mumbling above him, gripped Sherlock's curls and pulled him off, only to thrust lightly back into his mouth and then stop. Sherlock looked up into John's eyes, a question there giving him pause. He pulled off of John for a moment, just to take enough time to utter a breathless, "Please, Sir." That was it for John. He thrust into Sherlock’s mouth, wildly pumping his hips.  
"God, your filthy mouth. You were made to take my cock, Sherlock. Such a good boy, so fucking good." Sherlock moaned around John, unable to do anything other than allow the man to use him for release. This is exactly what he wanted, what he needed from John. To be taken control of, to be used and punished. So often John was left to trot after Sherlock, apologizing for the messes he left in his wake. He felt such satisfaction out of giving John the control and power over him that no one else had.  
He knew he was a mess, hair wild and spit dripping down his chin, but _God ___was it good. Soon John was trembling, his praises turned to senseless mutterings of cursing and Sherlock's name. His mouth flew open in a silent moan and he went to pull out of Sherlock's mouth, but Sherlock gripped his hips and held the man there, wanted for him to come deep in his throat, to taste every bit of John, to let him know that he could do whatever he wanted to him. John moaned even louder and came, pressing Sherlock's face as deep as he could, his hips slowing as he pumped through his orgasm. Sherlock didn't let a drop spill. John stared at him, wide eyed, as he pulled off his softening cock and swallowed. He wiped his chin on the back of his sleeve and stood. John grabbed his face and thrust his tongue into his mouth, causing both men to moan. Sherlock knew that John was tasting himself on his tongue, and the idea was shockingly pleasing to him.  
As the kiss deepened, Sherlock could not help pressing his cock to John's thigh and rutting against him, desperate to release some of the pressure that was building up. John grabbed his hip firmly and caused him to still his motions, earning a whine form Sherlock. He pushed him away to pull up his trousers and put a firm, warm hand on the back of Sherlock's neck.  
"Bedroom, now." John's voice was deep and dripping with lust, despite the fact that he had just come. Sherlock closed the gap between them and kissed John, rough and wanton, groaning with pleasure when John grabbed him by his hair and pulled him off to give him a light push toward the hallway. His eyes sparkled with mischief and darkened with need. Sherlock thought briefly that they reminded him of bright stars on a clear cold night, but the thought was forgotten due to a surge of pleasure as John said, "I'm not even halfway done with you, yet."


	2. It Progresses to the Throat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait between chapters... Several plot bunnies took residence up in my brain and just would not leave until I gave them the attention they desired. Potentially this may have another chapter, and though this continues the story, much like the first part it could be read as a stand alone, too.  
> I don't have a set plan for the next installment, so if you have any suggestions or wishes or dreams you would like me to fulfill I should be glad to do so. 
> 
> Also, please note that tags are updated. If any of the things in this chapter upset you, please turn back now!
> 
> Comments and crit are always appreciated! Please let me know if there are spelling, grammar, or language issues. This is not Brti-picked and I may have overlooked things. 
> 
> xxx

John tugged Sherlock along to the bedroom by the waistband of his trousers. Sherlock shuddered at the feeling of John's fingers lightly brushing against his lower stomach. John chuckled low in his chest and pulled him inside the bedroom, kicking the door shut and pushing Sherlock against it. John stood close, enough that they could feel each others' body heat, but not quite close enough that they were touching. John drew his hand up to trace down Sherlock's jaw and the side of his neck. He leaned into the touch and John gripped the back of Sherlock’s neck, holding him in place. He squeezed lightly and Sherlock's hips snapped forward of their own accord, searching for some sort of friction. "Not yet." John smiled, more of a feral grin than the soft look Sherlock had come to expect from him.

He stood back and began to take off his clothing, piece by piece, moving at an agonizingly slow pace. Once he was divested of the last piece, he moved to do the same to Sherlock, who could not take his eyes off the man. He was gloriously perfect, all tightly packed muscle and soft angles. He made quick work of Sherlock's tidy button up and slacks, throwing them unceremoniously into a crumpled heap on the floor. He tugged him out of his pants, and as Sherlock was stepping out of them John pushed him onto the bed, the sudden motion of dominance causing both men to harden in their trousers. It was driving Sherlock mad; John was exercising all of his patience to drive Sherlock crazy with want. Perhaps he was testing him, trying to see if he misbehaved and he could punish him again. Sherlock thought he would like that very much. 

He propped himself up on his elbows and murmured a soft "Please". He was not above begging at this point, cock dripping and painfully hard.

John simply quirked an eyebrow and doesn't move. Sherlock knew what he wanted. "Please, Sir". John’s lips twisted into a small smile.

"Please, Sir, what?"

He knelt on the bed to straddle Sherlock's waist, who groaned at the feeling of John's weight resting on him and resisted the urge to thrust up.

"What do you want me to do to you, Sherlock?"

"John, please!" he whimpered, starting to feel desperate. He began to squirm under John, who held him still with his hands and legs around him.

"I want to hear you say it." His voice was raw and deep, sending shivers down his spine. Both men were panting and shaking with the desire to touch and thrust and move.

"Oh, God, please fuck me, Captain." He didn't even know where that came from, but the reaction it elicited from John made him think he was going to try it again another time.

" _Jesus Christ._ " John groaned from deep in his throat as he descended on Sherlock's mouth, thrusting his tongue in and moaning wildly. He ground his hips down onto Sherlock's, making him moan loud and deep into John's mouth. They broke the kiss, panting as Sherlock stared at John, red lips slick with spit, face flushed, and pupils blown wide. My God, he was fucking perfect like this.

John took his fingers and traced Sherlock's lips before shoving them gracelessly into his mouth. Sherlock twisted his tongue around them and John groaned and breathed heavily through his nose. He withdrew his fingers and began to trail them down Sherlock's chest, his ribs, his hips. As he bypassed his cock and moved down further, Sherlock understood where this was headed. He moaned loudly and lifted his legs slightly to give John better access. Sherlock couldn't keep still as John began to circle him and slowly dip inside with one finger. "Stop moving" he warned. Sherlock wanted to obey, but the feeling of John _inside_ of him had short-circuited his brain; he kept trying to press himself down on John's finger.

A sudden _smack_ of John's hand across his face shocked him into stillness. The look on John's face clearly reflected the fact that he thought he had gone too far, but Sherlock felt a strong wave of pleasure and his cock twitched and leaked as he moaned so loudly he was sure Mrs. Hudson could hear it downstairs. John still hadn't moved, even more shocked that Sherlock clearly got off on the pain as well as being submissive. "God, John, please. Please move. I'll be good, I promise." Sherlock was practically rambling, begging for John to continue. When he came back to his senses he thrust two fingers into Sherlock with a renewed vigor. The sensation was just on the right side of painful. He noticed John was fully hard now.

“I’ll be such a good boy for you, Captain. I swear, I’ll be so good for you.” John growled and thrust a third finger in, eager to prepare Sherlock as quickly as possible. Sherlock was enraptured in pleasure joined with whispers of _delightful_ pain. He wiggled and clenched around John’s fingers, stilling instantly when John’s other hand moved to lay on his throat, not squeezing, but providing a wonderful weight of intention. Sherlock’s eyes went impossibly darker with lust, to which John’s reply was to tighten his grip just a fraction. The result was a gorgeous, wordless cacophony of moaning and whimpering and pleasure accented by Sherlock pushing his neck further into John’s grip, begging him to tighten to the point of real pleasure. He whined in protest when John removed both hands from their various positions on and in Sherlock’s body, and instead moved to John’s cock and Sherlock’s hip as he lined himself up to Sherlock’s entrance. Sherlock tried to push down on John’s cock, desperate for the other man to be inside him. Another sharp smack to his high cheekbone caused another moan and stillness. With Sherlock pliant and docile beneath John, he began to push inside Sherlock, who panted heavily and watched John’s face from heavily lidded eyes. 

John slowly began to move in small, teasing thrusts. While one hand stayed on Sherlock’s hip, the other resumed its place on his throat. Noticing the moment of hesitation in John’s eyes, Sherlock tilted his neck upwards to silently confirm that he wanted this, he _needed_ this. With every second John’s grip grew tighter and tighter until just the slightest bit of air was passed in and out of his lungs, enough to cause some lightheadedness but not enough to cause unconsciousness. He began to thrust faster and harder and Sherlock groaned as well as he could with the hand that restricted his air and muffled his vocal cords. “Please, Sir.” He managed to gasp out, knowing that John would understand his intention, which he did, and the grip on his neck turned vice-like as all air was cut off from his body. John’s hand had squeezed right at that glorious angle which caused immediate lightheadedness and a rush of pleasure and adrenaline. His fingers and toes tingled and numbed as John continued to drive into him, his mouth hanging open in a silent moan. After only a few seconds his vision blurred and limbs grew clumsy and heavy as he could feel himself nearing unconsciousness. With two fingers he tapped John’s wrist and he immediately let go. Sherlock began gasping for air as tears stung his eyes, and with his lungs burning and his throat feeling bruised he came in thick beautiful strands across his and John’s stomachs. 

“Christ, Sherlock. So gorgeous.” John managed to gasp out in a rush of breath as his hips began pumping wildly, and within a few quick thrusts he was coming inside Sherlock and slumping on top of him to catch his breath.

Both men laid there in their mess and sweat, not caring and too sated to move except to brush each other’s hair back and curl closer to ghost gentle kisses over shoulders and arms and lips. 

“That was bloody fantastic, you know.” John knew Sherlock would preen at the praise as he usually did, but he suspected he wasn’t as confident in manners of the bedroom as he was in every other aspect of his life, even though he would never admit it. So John was taking it upon himself to make sure Sherlock was as confident as he should be, and Sherlock appreciated the gesture. Sherlock simply hummed a response of acknowledgment and rolled closer to press gentle kisses to Johns throat. They lay like that for the rest of the day and evening, content to do nothing but lazily nuzzle and kiss and perhaps prepare for a gentler round two after dinner.


End file.
